


in the streetlights

by meteor-sword (vaenire)



Series: Bakoda Fleet Week 2020 [4]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alter Universe - Modern Setting with Bending, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coming Out, Confessions, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25662784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaenire/pseuds/meteor-sword
Summary: But as they passed under the equally spaced street lights, he didn’t want to miss chance to glimpse his friend’s face unnoticed-- the way he subtly continued to nod along with the radio, his strong hands tapping patterns into the wheel, the cut of his cheek when he checked both ways at intersections, the little comments he would make to Bato, who could not gather the brainpower to answer in more than hums.When he started to sing along with the radio under his breath, Bato closed his eyes to just listen, letting his heart ache just a little.///Bakoda Fleet Week Day 5:fake/pretend relationship| reunion
Relationships: Bato/Hakoda (Avatar)
Series: Bakoda Fleet Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1858234
Comments: 19
Kudos: 150
Collections: Bakoda Fleet Week 2020





	in the streetlights

**Author's Note:**

> the inherent homoerotic intimacy of being in a car with someone on a rainy night in a small coastal town

The mustiness of the old high school theater room filled Bato’s senses, and he scrunched up his nose at it. Bato didn’t often like coming to school functions with Hakoda-- Sokka and Katara attending the same school they had tended to bring up a lot of high school memories that Bato would be fine forgetting all about, thanks. But the two of them had been so proud to tell their Dad and Bato that they’d made it into the Winter talent show that Bato couldn’t bear to turn down the invite. 

The lights were already dimmed by the time Bato and Hakoda shuffled through the throng of high schoolers and parents and teachers and into the cramped room. There weren’t many seats still open, but Bato grabbed his friend’s arm and pointed to two spots beside a woman holding a toddler in her lap. 

“Are those taken?” Bato asked over several silhouetted heads. 

“No!” the toddler called back, bubbly. _ Hakoda could sit beside them, _ Bato decided silently as they waded through the narrow aisle to take the seats. That was another aspect he hated about school functions: the chatty parents. Everyone wanted to know about his kids, which ones they were, where the mother was, and Bato hated to explain that ‘no, I don’t have kids, just helping out with a friend’s.’

Bato could feel the woman’s eyes on them as they shuffled in front of her, not leaving Hakoda as he took off his rain jacket and folded it in his lap. 

“Is your kid in the show?” she asked over the toddler’s head. Hakoda, ever the socialite, smiled in response. 

“Both of them!” Hakoda replied proudly. “And you?” 

“Yes, big brother is playing the tsungi horn,” she said, cooing into the little girl’s ear and bouncing her on her lap. The little girl giggled. 

“The tsungi horn-- do you hear that, Bato?” he said, nudging Bato in the ribs like it meant something to him. “My son’s doing some swordsman forms, and my daughter is in the waterbending troupe.” 

“Oh!” the woman exclaimed. “You must be Sokka and Katara’s Dads!” 

Bato looked up at that--  _ Dads _ ? He opened his mouth to correct her: Dad and family friend, thanks. 

But Hakoda’s mouth was faster. 

“Yep!” 

Bato whipped his head around to look at him-- did he know what he just agreed with? 

“I’m Ursa,” the woman said, getting a firm grip on the girl with one arm to reach her other hand out and shake Hakoda’s-- and then Bato’s, leaning over Hakoda. In shock, Bato shook her hand limply. “Your kids have been good friends to my son,” she said with some meaning that Bato thought he should understand. “Actually, I’m glad we met. Sokka and Katara mentioned they are spending the night at our house, right? I finally have Zuko for a weekend, so…” 

Ah. Divorcee. 

“He mentioned something about a sleepover,” Hakoda said. The lights dimmed further at that moment though, so Ursa leaned closer to whisper. 

“We can exchange numbers after,” she said, bouncing the girl on her lap again. 

\--

Bato tried not to be judgmental of kids. He really did. He had never been a kids person, not until Hakoda’s were born and he ended up half living with the new parents (which was supposed to be a temporary setup, until Hakoda’s mother could move in, but one thing led to another and he’d slept on their couch ever since Sokka was born). 

(He’d been gearing up to find his own apartment again when the news came from the doctor, and there was no way Bato could leave Hakoda alone when the illness took Kya). 

But seriously, Bato had to wonder who let some of these kids into the talent show lineup. This was childhood trauma in the making, when the girl sang so off key it was like she didn’t know where to start looking for the tune, when the kids did some skit in horrendous cat makeup and costumes. 

Hakoda gripped Bato’s arm on the armrest between them when Sokka came on stage, donning parts of his armor and carrying his spear and sword. 

Bato might be biased, but Sokka’s flawless performance of some intermediate to advanced Water Tribe forms were much better crowd pleasers than the last kid’s little standup routine, bless him. Hakoda gripped his arm tighter, shooting him a bright smile in the dark when Sokka ended his routine with a powerful swing of his sword before sheathing it. Bato ignored the way he could see Ursa smiling at them over Hakoda’s shoulder. Hakoda, ever the one to miss the little things that Bato fretted over, likely still didn’t realize he’d essentially told her they were a  _ couple _ . 

Seeing Katara with the water bending troupe  _ did _ make Bato rather grateful that their local high school had a water bending master on staff to lead the club, even if he was a prick. 

Knowing he’d seen the two  _ important _ acts, Bato settled back in his seat, weighing how mad Hakoda would be if he fell asleep in the chair. He’d had a long day on the water before picking the kids up, showering, and getting ready to bring the kids  _ back _ to school for the show. 

He woke an indeterminable time later to the sound of smooth music, making it difficult to blink the sleep out of his eyes, before realizing Hakoda had shaken him awake and was now laughing at him behind a hand cupped to his mouth. 

He stared at Hakoda for a moment, unaware of himself, before he shook himself awake and shot a soft glare at him. The black-haired boy playing the tsungi horn-- Ursa’s son, then-- sat on a chair in the middle of the stage. He was doing well, even Bato could admit he was talented. 

Discreetly, Bato took a look at the program sheet they’d been given on the way in. Tsungi horn, thankfully, was third from the last act. Bato could make it through an acrobatics routine and a knife-throwing performance. 

\--

Ursa introduced them to her husband Ikem and her daughter Kiyi as the light came up and Bato stood to stretch his stiff legs. Hakoda shook hands with Ikem, who then reached around the group to shake Bato’s, as well; he must be under the illusion that he and Hakoda were a couple, as well, then. He internally rolled his eyes once again at Hakoda’s quick mouth and slow head. 

Ursa waved her son over, and Bato raised his brows to see their-- Hakoda’s-- two kids trail right behind him, flanking the boy. 

Bato helped Katara carry her duffle bag to Ursa’s car out in the parking lot while Hakoda and Sokka loaded the boy’s sword and armor into the trunk of the car. Ursa luckily drove a mini-van, because Bato could not see her ferrying all of the kids home in anything less: Sokka, Toph and Zuko took the backseat, Aang and Katara in the middle seats beside Kiyi in a car seat, with Ursa and her husband in the front. 

“You’ll call if you need anything?” Hakoda said, leaning a hand above the van’s side door to duck his head inside and look at both his kids. 

“ _ Yeah, Dad _ ,” was the resounding response. 

“And you’ll be safe?” 

“ _ Of course, Dad _ .” 

“And you’ll promise to have fun?” 

That earned some laughter and Katara leaning out the door to push her Dad’s shoulder. 

“Alright,” he said, patting the doorframe. “Get out of here!” He slid the door shut firmly and stood back as Ursa put the van into reverse. 

Hakoda sighed as he fell into step beside Bato back across the parking lot. It was a damp night, but not quite raining. 

“The usual?” Bato asked as he pulled open the passenger door, careful to avoid the tear in the seat as he sat. 

“The usual,” Hakoda agreed. 

\--

The tradition went back to when Hakoda first got his license: Friday nights were half off tacos at the shitty drive through in town. Now they often brought the kids, but it was like a religious observation when the kids were at a friend’s house for the weekend. 

Orange soda for Hakoda, horchata for Bato. Three crunchy tacos for Hakoda, two gorditos for Bato. Food left untouched until Hakoda could find a suitable parking spot at the empty pier docks, where they cracked the windows to let the sound of waves in. When they were young, Bato would slip in a mix-tape. Now the sound of oldies radio was enough. 

This was where they came when Hakoda’s brother died suddenly, too soon after he’d graduated from the same high school Katara and Sokka attended now. This was where they came when Bato needed a cover of darkness to stammer through the confession that he liked boys. This was where they came when Hakoda gushed to Bato about this girl he’d met-- and Bato had been happy for him here, even though it was the day he’d been dreading when he had to give up on his little flicker of hope that his feelings might be reciprocated (he kept that for his bedroom later that night, because being upset like  _ that _ on their pier was sacrilege). 

This was where they came when Kya told Hakoda she was pregnant and he needed to freak out to someone without repercussion or judgment. This was where they came after a long hiatus between the diagnosis and the funeral. 

The tradition survived Bato moving for college, Hakoda’s marriage to Kya, two kids, body aches of impending middle age. Nearly nothing could come between Bato, Hakoda, and their taco nights on the pier, yellow fluorescent light seeping in the windows to illuminate their laps and the discarded greasy brown taco bags. 

Bato didn’t know if the tradition could survive it if Hakoda’s old beater car ever gave up, though. 

Satisfied with the radio station he’d found, Bato unwrapped his straw and stabbed it into his horchata. 

“Ursa’s nice, huh?” Hakoda commented, unwrapping his food. Bato hummed in agreement. 

Bato waited until Hakoda had scarfed down all of his food (while Bato was only unwrapping his second gordito) to bring up the offhanded slip-up earlier. 

“She thinks we’re a couple,” Bato said with a laugh. He could laugh about them ever possibly being a couple now. 

“What?” Hakoda said, tilting his head curiously. “Why do you figure that?”

“Well, she asked if we were Sokka and Katara’s  _ Dads _ .” 

“Oh,” Hakoda said. Then he smiled sheepishly. “Woops.” He shrugged. “You’re their god Dad, so…” 

Bato rolled his eyes. Of course it wasn’t a big deal to his friend. It wasn’t a big deal to him, either, but still. It would be nice if Hakoda would say ‘oh, no! We’ll have to correct her!’ and let Bato continue to be entirely at peace with dedicating his entire life to the man. 

“Is it bad?” Hakoda asked, then shrugged. “Really, you might as well be their second Dad.” 

Well. Bato couldn’t argue with that-- not after years of being the kids’ chauffeur to school, bringing them their lunches when they forgot, picking Sokka up when he got a nasty bloody nose or Katara when she got into another fight at lunch (and giving the office folks a piece of his mind when Katara was perfectly justified in decking the other student). 

Bato just hummed, not agreeing or disagreeing, just acknowledging. 

Hakoda leaned his seat all the way back, lying down to stare at the car roof and letting Bato finish his food in peace. When Bato balled up the wrappings and shoved them back into the paper bag, throwing it onto the floorboard at his feet, he followed suit and laid his seat all the way back. He shot a smile over at his friend, and was surprised to find Hakoda still sullenly staring at the ceiling. 

“Koda?” he said. 

When that didn’t snap Hakoda out of this sudden mood, Bato knew it was serious. 

He opened his mouth to ask his friend what was wrong, but Hakoda interrupted him with a sigh. He dragged a hand over his face before letting the hand fall over the headrest, stretching his arm out above his head. Bato turned onto his side as best he could in his seat to demonstrate his undivided attention. 

“This is embarrassing,” Hakoda mumbled, and Bato had a moment of panic before he realized Hakoda had probably already forgotten about the whole two Dads snafu. He looked at Bato with an expression Bato recognized well. A guilt over something unsaid, a fear of saying it. It felt uncomfortable to see it on Hakoda’s face, who spoke freely on whatever came to mind. 

Bato just frowned and waited. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Hakoda continued. “And this is so stupid to just realize at nearly forty.” 

“Koda, I doubt…” 

“I think I’m bisexual,” Hakoda steamrolled over Bato. Bato didn’t close his mouth, letting his statement die in his mouth. Oh. 

“Oh.” Bato blinked. “That’s not-- I mean, good for you, Koda.” He tried to remember what Hakoda had told him when their roles were reversed, in this very car in this very parking lot about twenty years before. 

“Thanks for trusting me,” Bato said, and it sounded mechanical to his own ears. 

Hakoda breathed a laugh out his nose, seeming to relax into his skin again. 

Bato was accustomed to the way he had to stumble to keep up with Hakoda’s trains of thought, not unlike following the man as he raced across rocky shorelines-- it always seemed to Bato that Hakoda was that much more sure of his footing on terrain as on life in general, while Bato had to watch his feet so he wouldn’t find a slick spot or loose rock and sprain an ankle. While Hakoda charged ahead, into conversations and relationships and all the milestones of life, while Bato trailed not far behind, always a shadow. Like he was there as a full life developed, just not his own. 

This was the first time Bato had beaten Hakoda to a milestone-- childhood height trackers notwithstanding-- and it was a hollow victory. Certainly, the next time they were able to get their pier taco meal together, Hakoda would already be telling Bato about the charming man he’d met, how much the kids would love him. 

The idea should not hurt his heart that bad, but Bato found himself breathing gingerly anyway. He forced a smile on his face. 

They laid back and listened to the waves below the docks. It was starting to mist-- or maybe it was drifting up from the water slapping against the wood beams and retaining rocks below, and it spit on the windshield until it was just a blur of yellow and blue fluorescence. 

Bato sat halfway back up to get another drink from his cup, now damp with condensation through the cheap cardboard.

Bato was really good and concealing his selfishness. He loved Hakoda’s kids, so it was natural for him to help in every way he could when he and Kya were frazzled new parents, and natural to help after Kya. 

But it was easier to be selfish when pining after Hakoda when he knew his friend was straight, because then the impossibility of him ever looking at Bato the same was less… personal. 

Bato was not being good about concealing his selfishness in the silence of the car as he laid back on his seat. A sea lion barked somewhere in the distance. He should say something. 

“So,” he started, grimacing already, “How’d you realize?” 

He glanced over at Hakoda, and regretted it. Hakoda was looking back at him, his expression totally open in a way Bato couldn’t ever imagine himself being when asked about his sexuality. 

Hakoda squinted, looking up toward the ceiling again in the classic ‘Hakoda-is-thinking’ face, and Bato squashed the light little feeling it gave him in his chest. 

Just as Hakoda was going to say something, though, his eyes got wide and he sat up, reaching for the radio and turning the volume up. 

“This song!” he exclaimed, grinning at Bato with those same wide eyes before his expression turned to displeasure. “They play this on the oldies station now?” 

Bato laughed. “That sucks, man.” It was a good song though-- it had featured on many a Bato’s playlists when they were in high school. Rock from their youth always hit Bato different: too many nights spent in his room with his walkman, writing down the names of tracks that made him think of his friend, ripping cassettes to make his own tapes to bring along on taco night. 

Bato was selfish and he was masochistic, apparently. 

The tension between them broke as Hakoda nodded along with the song. A part of him was relieved-- but another, stupider part of him was disappointed. He wanted to hear about what was going on in Hakoda’s internal life that he made this realization, even if it would never lead to a confession of feelings or whatever fantasy the back of Bato’s mind came up with. 

But in real life, Bato had let go of those fantasies a long time ago. Hakoda seemed to have forgotten about Bato’s question.

So they chatted for another hour, slowly sipping down their drinks until the cold sea air seeped into the car and made Bato’s feet stiff. 

“Ready to go home?” Hakoda didn’t need Bato to answer, putting his seat back up and turning the key in the ignition to turn the engine. 

Bato put his seat halfway back up, just enough to see out of his passenger window. The tires tumbling over the loose concrete of the pier access road blurred Bato’s thoughts, and as Hakoda turned onto the quiet two lane freeway, he couldn’t help but study his profile. 

With the heater on in the car, blasting hot air into Bato’s face, his eyes were starting to get heavy again. But as they passed under the equally spaced street lights, the only light that reached the car windows at this time of night, he didn’t want to miss the chance to glimpse his friend’s face unnoticed-- the way he subtly continued to nod along with the radio, his strong hands tapping patterns into the wheel, the cut of his cheek when he checked both ways at intersections, the little comments he would make to Bato, who could not gather the brainpower to answer in more than hums. When he started to sing along with the radio under his breath, Bato closed his eyes to just listen, letting his heart ache just a little. 

So Bato was selfish, but he would trade a thousand of his mornings sacrificed to drive the kids to school or to early morning sports games to have a handful of evenings with Hakoda like this. 

Bato could feel the change in the road rumbling under their car when Hakoda turned off into the neighborhood. Still, he kept his eyes shut until he felt the tire hit the curb-- and Hakoda always curbed it when he parked on the street, no matter how many times Bato criticized him for it. Today he just sighed, loud enough for Hakoda to hear it over the car engine turning off and the patter of rain that Bato hadn’t noticed before. 

He was comfortable right here in the car and he didn’t want to get up just yet. He’d crossed his arms at some point of the drive home, and now he watched rain run down the windshield through his eyelashes. His eyes drifted open and shut. He could sleep right here, if only the air would stay warm. Already, the coolness was permeating the windows. He rolled his head to the left, enjoying the stretch in his right shoulder, to look at Hakoda. Who was looking at him, too. 

Hakoda reeled back an inch, eyes snapping forward, to his hand still resting on the wheel. 

Bato frowned, and swatted at his own face and long hair-- he probably had a piece of lettuce stuck somewhere. He didn’t find any, and he looked back to Hakoda in askance.

Hakoda was still looking at his own hand, thumb twiddling in circles in the air. He could feel the way Hakoda inhaled, words forming in his lungs and dying before they reached the back of his throat, leaving something unsaid. 

Their house sat on the corner of the residential street whose pavement was roughened by years of flooding and freezing, cracks patched with black tar. The street light on their corner blinked in random intervals, the light mottled by the big willow tree in their front yard. Its branches swayed in the wind now, its sweeping branches causing shadows to flicker across Hakoda’s form. Bato knew it was rather pathetic, but he also knew there was no moving past these feelings for Hakoda, not in this lifetime. 

The peace of the moment was broken when Hakoda pulled the keys from the ignition, the heavy key ring slipping out of his hand with a loud jangle. Hakoda cursed under his breath, but Bato saw where it had slid beside the center console and leaned over to grab it easily, slipping his hand down the crack between the driver seat and console. He placed it back in Hakoda’s hand with a bemused if judgmental smile. Then he froze. 

He was much closer to Hakoda than a moment before, and suddenly very awake and very aware of how oddly stunned the other man was, still gripping the wheel. Bato’s hand hovered over Hakoda's other hand, keys between them. 

Bato could barely breathe under the weight of Hakoda’s gaze, and he wondered if his friend could somehow finally see the way Bato looked at him. Maybe he finally saw through Bato’s facade, his charade of platonic loyalty. 

“I--” 

“We should--” 

They both stopped. 

“What were you saying?” Hakoda said. 

“No,” Bato said, “please, what were  _ you _ saying?” 

Hakoda exhaled harshly, taking the keys and putting them in his lap, flexing his hand on the wheel. 

“I was just thinking,” he started and trailed off, looking out his side window. It was unlike Hakoda to be at a loss for words, let alone to begin speaking and then lose track of them. He turned to Bato. “You’re my best friend, and I don’t want anything to change that.” Bato’s heart dropped. So he had finally wised up to Bato’s glances. “So tell me if I’m way off base. But…” 

“Hakoda, please,” Bato said, shockingly soft to his own ears. “I’m sorry.” His stomach churned with guilt for making his friend so uncomfortable. Surely he felt Bato’s eyes on him the entire ride home. Maybe, having realized he was bi had also helped him realize the way Bato felt about him, as if Bato hadn’t made it embarrassingly clear over the years. 

“Oh,” Hakoda said, matching Bato’s meek volume. “Don’t feel sorry!” Hakoda said, putting on a smile, clearly forced in Bato’s familiar eye. His hand flew to the door handle, and Bato frowned. Maybe he hadn’t read this right. 

“Or-- no, please finish,” Bato said, his hand shooting out to grab Hakoda’s shoulder before he could turn away. 

Hand still on the handle, door slightly cracked, Hakoda’s shoulders slumped as he looked back at Bato. The willow branches twirled in a gust of wind, and Bato saw the deep bags under his friend’s eyes, the way his jaw twitched. 

“I meant what I said: I don’t want anything to change our friendship,” Hakoda said, and his voice was tired now. “But I’ve realized, recently, that I might... “ Bato wanted to shout when it sounded like the man would trail off again, when his muscles tensed like he was going to turn away and get out of the car. “I might have feelings for you. And I know that’s uncomfortable, and with Ursa’s comment earlier, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable but you  _ are _ their second Dad, and I promise I’m not just saying this because you’re here with me and the kids. I think it’s been there for a long time and I just never…” He swallowed. “I’m sorry.” 

Hakoda moved to escape, to flee, but Bato gripped his jacket sleeve. 

“Hakoda,” Bato said, and even he didn’t recognize what exactly he was trying to convey: he was pleading and comforting and demanding all at once. 

Hakoda looked at him with wide eyes and Bato willed him to  _ use _ them for once and see what’s been right in front of him all along. Clearly, that wasn’t how it was going to go, and Bato leaned in to shoot him an incredulous look-- but Hakoda was leaning in as well, his eyes fluttering closed and his head tilting to the side. 

If Bato had let himself think about his next move at all, he would never have moved again. As it were, any semblance of thought escaped out of his head in the nick of time, and he mirrored Hakoda’s movement-- lips clashed inelegantly yet perfectly, even if Bato’s nose hit Hakoda’s cheek awkwardly, and his beard scratched Bato’s chin in an unexpectedly unpleasant way. 

Perfectly chaste, it seemed to last forever, yet was over in no time. 

The humid cold of the night was already permeating the air around them, but their warm breaths mingling made Bato flush, his skin itch with excitement and anticipation. 

Bato didn’t know who pulled the other in first, but their lips met again, Hakoda’s parting, and all Bato knew was that his lips were soft and pliant and that they were both out of practice in this-- and it made him want to laugh and cry and pull Hakoda closer (so he did, over the center console and halfway into his lap, hand braced on Bato’s thigh) and ask him  _ why now? why did it take so long?  _ (But he knew, and he didn’t want to bring it up, not now with Hakoda’s tongue in his mouth)--

Hakoda’s phone was ringing. There was a moment of fumbling, mouths hovering inches apart, before he silenced it in his pocket and pressed his mouth back against Bato’s. 

Then Bato’s vibrated in his pocket, and they both sighed. 

He pulled it out of his jean pocket and read Katara’s name on the caller ID. 

“Yes, dear?” he answered, shooting Hakoda a scowl for ignoring a call from _ his daughter _ . 

“Hi Bato! I hope I’m not waking you up, but I totally forgot my pajamas at home! Do you think maybe you could possibly swing them by Zuko’s?”

Bato let out a slow, even sigh, quiet enough that the phone wouldn’t pick it up. “Of course. Do you have them set out somewhere?” 

“It’s on my desk!” 

“Why don’t you text me his address and I’ll come by.”

“Bato, you’re the best!” 

Bato hung up, shooting Hakoda an unimpressed look where he hovered less than a foot away. Hakoda looked sheepish, one leg still on his side of the console, the other halfway into Bato’s leg space, hand braced on the back of Bato’s seat. 

“So,” Hakoda said, hilariously casual for the situation. “Sokka and Katara’s Dads, right?” 

Bato let his head hit the headrest with a groan and a smile. 

**Author's Note:**

> YES i gave hakoda the palate of a child. YES i gave bato _my_ order at the taco place. it's because he's refined.
> 
> check out my [atla blog](https://meteor-sword.tumblr.com)


End file.
